Before Sunrise

 

Every hour in itself, as it respects us in particular, is the only one we can call our own.

- Jean de la Bruyere

 

 

RISKE

 

The night was quiet. My mind was not.

Thoughts and musings had raged inside my brain from dawn until dusk, and even now, secreted in solitude, alone as I had been every night, I still couldn’t keep my head on straight.

Probably because I was lying to myself. About a lot of things…

For one: I hadn’t been alone every night… I’d spent at least part of half the week with beach blonde bunnies in my bed, redheads in the Rolls, a caramel-haired cutie to bide the time.

For two: My thoughts hadn’t exactly been raging. If I was being honest with myself, they were seemingly stuck—centered around my impromptu “bachelor night.” A night I was trying desperately to forget…

Chris and Griff had busted my fucking balls all day after my brief dally with the stripper I now referred to as “Blondie the Bimbo.” In truth, I hadn’t ever really learned the fair-haired woman’s name; I didn’t need to. But I also couldn’t stop picturing her.

On her knees, on my cock, wrapping her lips around it while I called her another woman’s name—a name I couldn’t get out of my head if I wanted to.

There had only been one Kat Lexington. I didn’t think I could survive another…

Earlier in the afternoon, I had walked into our makeshift office, the rental we used while our real one was being constructed and renovated, the day after the club with Kat on my mind. The second I swept into my office door, my two best friends slipped in behind me, their faces grinning, their smiles wide as they nudged each other like dirty Cheshire cats—pre-pubescent porn-watchers ready for more X-rated entertainment.

They crowded my desk.

“So?” Griff asked out loud.

I took my seat. “So, what?”

“So, how was she? We’ve been dying to know… Your neck was ten different shades of red when you came from behind the curtain, your pants half-undone. You were ready to leave the second you came out, and if I wasn’t mistaken,” Griff grinned, “Miss Beautiful-Tits-Becky had an extra ‘shine’ to her pink lips… and I’m sure it wasn’t coming from her lip gloss.”

Griff perched on the edge of my desk, beginning to lean in. My less-eager friend Chris stood in the center of the carpet, arms crossed, simply watching. They were hoping, waiting for me to confirm their fantasies. And somehow I couldn’t do it.

I’d told them about plenty of escapades, a million and one romps. But this one was undoubtedly different. I opened my mouth to speak, to make an excuse, but nothing seemed to come out, and I met their curious stares with a hard one of my own, my gaze flitting from one friend’s face to another.

I straightened my back, picking up my pen. I placed it on the paper in front of me.

“No.” And then I started writing a note—a reminder to myself not to drink Bourbon to excess any more—no matter how fucking good it was. I didn’t need another repeat of last night. I stuck the note in my leather-bound binder, closing it.

“Holy Christ, Foxx,” Chris piped up. “When are you going to move into the digital age? You know we have software for that kind of thing. If you want to write a note to yourself, there are plenty of ways to do it. Lots of automated workflow stuff. Nobody writes in a notebook style binder anymore. Join the twentieth century.”

I looked at the binder and then him. My voice was flat. “I like my throwback luxuries, thank you very much. It’s worked for me so far, and I stick with what works. Nothing wrong with a little nostalgia for memory’s sake… It keeps my juices going—reminds me of who I was, where I came from… what it took to get here.” I stared at his face. “Know what I’m saying?”

“No,” Griff cut in, his green eyes glowing. “There’s no use in sticking with the old. Personally, I’m a fan of the new. We’ve got our new office; I’ve got my new car and God willing,” he pounded a fist on the face of my desk, “I’ll have some new pussy tonight to cap it off. The universe invented ‘new’ to keep us from being bored.”

“And we see how well that works out for you,” I commented, turning back to my leafy ledger. “You’re always bored. Burying yourself knee-deep in some random vagina is never enough for you, Griff. And yet you try every weekend and, hell, some weekdays to break the monotony of bedding yet another mouth-breather. When does it all become enough?”

Griff swiped a hand through his dark hair, shrugging. “Until my dick falls off.”

Chris punched his arm, and I shook my head, wondering why I couldn’t take my own spontaneous advice, examining the reasons I went from woman to woman in my life—never settling down, never staying put. Fact was… my “after-hours” exploits were almost as bad as Griff’s. I justified them by offering my overnight guests butler-served breakfast, but that was the extent of my niceties.

Once they made it past the sheets, I made sure I never heard from them again. Never extended my number. Placed their names on the “Do not disturb” lists so that they never made it past the doorman should they decide to show up for a pop-up surprise visit.

I was careful… if not uncaring as fuck.

It was the one thought that reined over all others as I worked, unbothered in the half-built office that I shouldn’t have even been in yet. I should have been back in the rental office with Chris and Griff. I should have been at home in bed…

I should have been thinking of anyone but the beautiful brunette from my past, but instead I put the volume in my headphones as loud as it would go and allowed myself to be lost, to become a slave to my mind’s rage and purge everything I have onto the piece of paper.

I wrote until my fingers tired. I wrote until my hand overheated, the sweat dripping down my wrist and onto the desk. I wiped the back of my knuckles across my forehead, marveling at the change in temperature of the room.

The sudden overwhelming change in temperature… and the faint smell of smoke drifting its way into my office.

I stood suddenly, knocking over my chair. My wooden door felt warm as I flung it open, my feet stomping as I made my way into the hall. And then I saw it. The unusual bright light. It glowed like an unnatural nebula, plucked right out of the sky and inserted into the air, a shiny beacon come to call me into the next world.

Except this wasn’t Heaven; it was Hell.

And yet there seemed to be someone amidst the Hellfire… An angel mistakenly placed in the midst of the rising inferno. I thought I was losing it—hallucinating. Until l saw the fear in the angel’s eyes.

And I couldn’t think. I just… ran. Right for her. Circumventing the circle of fire, I dashed across the space between us, closing it within an instant. I wrapped my arms around the angel, pulling her towards an open doorway, and she seemed to come to life in that moment, her legs finally moving as I led her out of the hall and towards the open office space, her formerly leaden feet starting to run with mine. A third set of feet joined us, following in step, and I looked to my right to find another ethereal beauty, hauling ass beside us, her face covered in a thickening layer of terror—a silent scream emanating from her wide eyes.

I understood the terror. I could feel traces of it in my bones.

Black smoke billowed into the air, staining it the color of coal, and I coughed, my mouth instantly dry from the choking flavor of the room. The sound of the dancing flames was the deadliest noise I’d ever heard, and as my eyes searched for the exit, I could feel everything. The sweat on my brow. The trembling of the two other-worldly women at my sides who had appeared in my office almost as if out of thin air.

We hit the stairs with a shuddering force. Or, more like, I hit the stairwell door. With one shoulder, I barreled past the wood, breaking the lock that kept it clasped shut.

We nearly tumbled down the stairs and yet somehow we stayed on our toes, still running—descending rapidly, down forty-seven floors. Thirteen before we would make it to the ground, the red-haired woman collapsed first, and with one arm I scooped her up, half-carrying her. Until the brunette went tumbling on the fortieth floor down, buckling at the knee, her body folding onto itself as it hit the last landing, falling into a heap.

And I knew I had no choice. I had to get them out—and myself, in the process.

I grabbed the two women at my sides, wrapping them close to my body. Down five agonizing, air-restricted floors, I shouldered the weight of the two spent strangers, and by the time I made it to the ground floor, I couldn’t process anything at all. I was running on pure adrenaline. Carting the women had sapped me of energy; smoke had stolen the air from my lungs. Every body part I owned was aching, and through the pain, I managed to make it to the relative safety of the sidewalk where I sat them down, my legs almost too tired to stay upright as I searched for my cell in the pockets of my pants.

“Wait here!” I yelled to the women, sliding my fingers away from their bodies. My fingers sweating over the screen, my vision blurred to the point of semi-blindness, I somehow managed to dial 9-1-1. Screaming a few dozen words that I’m not even sure made sense, I cut the call with the operator, reeling as a sudden realization sent me running back into the building. I didn’t even hesitate. I couldn’t…

In my haste, I’d forgotten something—something I wasn’t leaving without saving… I wiped a line of sweat from my forehead and went in.